


getting used to it.

by RAZZMATAZZz



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 5+1 Things, Again, Autism, Autism Acceptance Month 2020, Autistic Character, Autistic Kageyama Tobio, Crying, Fluff, Gen, HINATA ALSO HAS FRECKLES, Hinata Shouyou is a Good Friend, Hinata Shouyou is the Sun, Holding Hands, I really tried to go all out with this, Kageyama Tobio is Bad at Feelings, Kageyama Tobio-centric, Male Friendship, Movie Nights, One-Sided Crush??, Pre-Slash, Queerplatonic Relationships, Repressed Feelings, That good shit, Touch-Starved Kageyama Tobio, Volleyball, boys being sweet, brief mention of mild sensory overload, but that’s only in the last part, he probably thinks so lol, if you want to avoid that, internalized ableism, it just happens, new experiences, not really established though, sensory experiences, thank you very much, the last part was damn hard, they’re mentioned twice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:53:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23493526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RAZZMATAZZz/pseuds/RAZZMATAZZz
Summary: Easing into new emotional/sensory experiences.  Alternatively, “Five Times Hinata Reached Out to Kageyama, and the First Time Kageyama Reached Back.”
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou & Kageyama Tobio
Comments: 10
Kudos: 144





	getting used to it.

**Author's Note:**

> Um, HAPPY AUTISM ACCEPTANCE/AWARENESS MONTH.  
> This is totally me establishing my ASD Kageyama headcanon lmao. I did my best to put my own sensory experiences into words, but some of it came out phrased oddly, since some of the shit I feel isn’t easily explained, or compared to rational things. I pushed for it, though. Please keep in mind that the way I live with autism is likely different than others, as everyone with ASD develops differently and/or on another level of the spectrum, so this is just my interpretation. Thank you for stopping in! I hope y’all enjoy this short little thing.
> 
> (Songs to listen to along the way:  
> 1\. Touch Starved — Will Toddman  
> 2\. Apollo — Last Dinosaurs  
> 3\. Next 2 U — Feyde  
> 4\. It’s Okay To Cry — SOPHIE  
> 5\. Sports — Beach Bunny (I know it says ‘I was never good at sports,’ but I just put that in the context of Kags having to work for his skills, as opposed to Hinata’s natural tenacity)  
> 6\. All the Luv In My Sick Heart — awfultune  
> 7\. Sunset Lover — Petit Biscuit
> 
> They all kind of match up to each section!!)

1\. Begin

The first time Hinata reached out to him was after a Thursday practice match. The sensation of a set of fingers settling over the curve of his forearm had felt like fiberglass on weathered metal, and Tobio had jolted hard enough to crack his teeth together. The only times anyone had ever grabbed at him like that, he’d ended up being scolded or yelled at for being a bad sport, or for not doing well enough. (This line of thought was not logical, and he knew it, but he was rarely touched, and the instinctive memory attached made it a volatile thing). So he’d bitten his lip, and edged away, and managed not to snap about it, but his body felt static. Clamps stitched the muscles of his upper back together, making it tight and tense and uncomfortable, and he shivered every ten seconds for the next hour. Hinata’s face afterwards had looked just as pinched as Tobio’s skin, but he hadn’t said anything about it. That was the only reason Tobio had been able to continue breathing.

Hinata eventually did say something, and pushed past Tobio’s initial nonchalance over the subject to reach the part of him that was truly discomforted with it. As he should have expected, Tobio found that Hinata didn’t mind — that he thought, if anyone, it was he who had done something wrong. 

With terse lips and shifting feet, Tobio told him that it wasn’t a big deal, anyways. That he just wasn’t used to it. 

2\. Joy

The next time it happened was a week later, at the beginning of the lunch period. Tobio had brought extra yoghurt, to Hinata’s delight, and, true to typical Hinata behavior, the guy had reached for him in a fit of excitement. The resulting sensation was different that time around. This childish light in Hinata’s eyes had held Tobio’s attention as white hands curled around his wrist. They (those eyes) were bright and glistening, and it was like heartburn, but on a surface level, instead of in his chest. It made him shudder all the way up his arm and down his spine, leaving his body prickling in its wake, almost as if he had come in from playing in the snow and immediately stuck his freezing, stiff hands underneath a stream of warm water. It wasn’t an unpleasant thing, he’d thought. Just… slightly odd. Tobio had furrowed his brow and twisted his wrist away under the pretense of being Grumpyama (an excuse graciously provided by Hinata himself. “So cold to me!” He’d complained, playful and warm and understanding) when he’d realized that the feeling wasn’t going to leave. 

The two of them had settled down on a bench and done away quickly with their respective yoghurts. Hinata had insisted on hitting a few tosses afterwards, and Tobio, if only because he’d been itching to set just as badly as Hinata had been aching to spike, agreed. 

He’d had to remind himself that he wasn’t wearing a bracelet until evening practice, because he could still feel Hinata touching him. He remembered a good three times distinctly, where his own fingertips had traced the imprints of Hinata’s on his skin.

3\. Fear

The third time it happened made a lot of sense to Tobio. Daichi, being as amazing as he was, had arranged another team movie night (“for teamwork purposes,” he’d intoned at the meeting preceding practice. The way Suga-san had smiled over his shoulder said otherwise). So everyone had gathered their things — blankets and pillows and toothbrushes, because they’d all fallen asleep last time anyways, and assorted snacks so everyone would have something to share — and met one another on the way to their captain’s house.  
Hinata had been the fourth of them to join the group, rattling up on his bicycle, red in the face from the autumn chill and bundled up in a scarf that covered the bottom half of his face all the way up to his eyes. He’d grinned nervously over it when Noya asked him if he was ready to binge _Insidious_. Tobio had laughed softly under the cover of his own scarf, knowing full well that Hinata was about to be scared shitless. Then he’d ended up scowling, because he was going to be the one who had to put up with what a nuisance it would be when Hinata couldn’t sleep, for fear of whatever monsters had popped up on the screen during the movie. 

Unsurprisingly, that was exactly the way it had gone down. Tobio had settled down on the floor, sandwiched between Hinata and the outside of Tsukishima’s left leg, and went on to get the life squeezed out of his arm at every mildly scary scene of each movie. It was only fair, he decided, seeing as Hinata’s presence (disregarding the way he’d bury his face into the gap between Tobio’s tricep and the arm of the couch when he couldn’t bear to watch anymore. That made Tobio’s chest feel too light and too tight at the same time) was the major reason he wasn’t startling at each jumpscare himself.  
Towards the end of the last movie, just when everything was building to a certain climax, Tobio felt something warm and soft wriggle down to make contact with the back of his hand. It took him a minute to recognize it as Hinata. Not Hinata himself, but Hinata’s hand, warm from being clenched underneath their shared blanket, and a little sweaty for the same reason.  
Instead of feeling prickly and like his skin wanted to crawl right off of his body, Tobio found that his face was getting kind of hot. It was almost dizzying. Then, almost as if he’d been injected with liquid brillo-pad, that heated feeling spread through his veins from the source, branching up his arm and out into his chest, rubbing him raw and making his whole body feel like something akin to a live wire.  
He’d jostled Hinata with his elbow when the guy tried to squirm his fingers down in between Tobio’s, but relented soon after, and turned his palm so Hinata could curl his fist into it. It was weird, for sure. He’d held hands with his grandfather before, and when he was very small, Miwa would hold his hand, too. But it had been ages since then. The only things that ever fit properly into the bones of his hands were volleyballs and books and things he used to write. Things without so much give. Things that weren’t so damageable. Not things like animals (which hated him, to his extreme discontent), not the kids his cousins had sometimes asked him to hold, not his sister’s hair when she tried to teach him how to braid it, and certainly not the very soft, very small hands of his highschool volleyball team spiker. Usually even thinking about things like that had him quaking, rubbing his arms to try to diffuse the air bubbles building up in the layer of air between his skin and his muscles. He normally became restless with thoughts about how he _should_ be able to do that, because everyone else did, and he’d learned how to set well enough, so why shouldn’t he be able to learn how to be gentle? And yet there he was. 

But… It wasn’t as bad as he’d imagined it to be, holding hands. It wasn’t like their fingers were slotted together, base to base, sticky and too-warm where they touched, too-cold where they didn’t. He didn’t feel as invaded as he thought he would. Maybe that was just because it was Hinata, and Hinata knew how important his hands were (had said as much, multiple times, especially when Tobio had come to school with a bandage over his thumb from trying to cut bell peppers before dinner), and Hinata wouldn’t take advantage of him for exactly that reason. Maybe it was a little safer because he knew Hinata. Because Hinata was the one who had broken through to him, past the oppressive feeling of being abandoned, and past the want to keep everyone away from what precious loves he had, as a result of it. Because Hinata was better. And Hinata wouldn’t leave him hanging.

He woke up to the delightful sensation of drool soaking through the shoulder of his t-shirt, and woke everyone else up with shouts of “dumbass! Dumbass Hinata, you slobbered all over my damn shirt!”  
The entire team was a little sore from having slept on the couch, or on the floor, all nested up with one another like a family of strange birds. It was odd, was what Tobio thought, as he stuffed his spit-damp shirt into his duffel bag. Kita-ichi had never held team sleepovers, or movie nights, or anything similar. Tobio had never woken up in a room of other boys before (outside of tournaments, that is), and he had definitely never woken up with someone else’s hand in his. 

He sighed to himself when he was halfway down the street from the captain’s house, having given his thanks for breakfast, and said his goodbyes. He felt a little empty. Hazy in the head from having stayed up so late, and with his back aching from falling asleep sitting up, he wondered why it was, exactly, that heading home didn’t sound as comforting as it should have. 

It was only when Hinata caught up to him, walking his bike and singing loud, off-key lyrics about early sunshine and clouds in the morning, that the pit in Tobio’s stomach shallowed out.

4\. Defeat

The fourth time it happened was lost under a thick film of sweat and tears. Most of what Tobio could remember was cluttered and foggy, like his breath had fogged up the lenses of his eyes. Bright lights, bared teeth and flimsy smiles, weak legs. Something crushing on his shoulders.

That was it. Something around his shoulders. 

Aching and trembling and valiantly choking back another torrent of emotion, Tobio had stuffed himself into a bathroom stall. The heels of his palms had made stars burst behind his eyelids when he ground into them. He felt blind, saltwater burning behind his eyes, unholy pressure urging him to just let loose; wail, cry, scream and kick the wobbly cubicle walls, howl something at the sky like the gods would tell him _why_ they had let this happen, after all of that hard work. But Tobio had never been that kind of person. He was more the type to press it all back, face blank but for the abnormal shine of his eyes, his lips tucked in between his teeth, chest cramping as he staved off whatever sob was trying to tear itself out of him.  
That was how Hinata had found him, he supposed. Maybe it said something about their teamwork: how easily the guy had guessed where he was going to be. There had been no knock on the door, no tentative call of his name. Instead, Hinata had slipped under the gap between the side of the stall and the floor, slim shoulders clearing the partition easily, his track jacket sleeves pulled over his hands so they wouldn’t get dirty.  
“You’re lucky everyone’s okay waiting for you,” was the only thing he said as he huddled in front of Tobio’s legs, precariously balanced on sturdy haunches. 

After a while, one set of fingers made their way onto Tobio’s knee. Then their mirror images joined, curled over his other. Tobio had risked a glance up from under a furrowed brow and found his gaze met by a very soft, very bloodshot pair of eyes. Hinata’s voice had been incredibly steady for someone who looked like he’d just cried his guts out. Tobio’s lower lip wobbled just thinking about it. 

“Your face is pretty dry, huh?” Hinata’s thumbs rubbed back and forth, smoothing over the kneepads Tobio hadn’t taken off. “Doesn’t it hurt to keep all that in?”

Tobio blinked wearily. He’d never really thought about how badly it hurt. He was always more focused on appearing rational and stable than on the tightness of his muscles. Come to think of it, it really was painful.

He nodded.

“Nobody’s gonna come in here.” Tobio watched as one of those hands sought his own. He twitched for a moment, before lowering one tense fist to meet that pale, open palm. Hinata’s fingers curled around his, so stupidly tiny for all the power they packed behind them, and so stupidly warm, for the hands of someone as upset as he was. Tobio’s bottom lip wobbled again, and he bit down on it. Hinata looked like he wished he wouldn’t. “You don’t have to hold it in anymore.”

“It’s weak.” Short words. Clipped and choked, like someone had a hold around his throat. 

“What, crying?”

He nodded.

“Am I weak?”

“No.”

“Then don’t be stupid. It’s fine to cry. It’s what you feel, right?”

Tobio nudged Hinata’s thumb with his own where it curled around his whitened knuckles, watched the light in the kid’s eyes glimmer in response, and opened his mouth to take a stuttering breath inwards.

And it all came out.

Crying wasn’t a pretty thing after suppressing it for so long. Tobio’s whole body convulsed with it, his shoulders curling inwards, his mouth open and gasping, his eyes screwed shut with the force of this city-leveling _feeling_. The minute he pitched forwards, Hinata’s arms were around him. They were thin arms, when they were covered, but lean and muscled under his sleeves. They settled over Tobio’s shoulders, and he pressed his forehead into the crook of Hinata’s neck, his own hands twisted viciously into the back of Hinata’s jacket, holding on for dear life, the creases of the fabric almost cutting into his skin with the force of it. It felt like everything was pouring out of him, and that now he’d opened the floodgates, he wasn’t going to be able to close them back up. 

It faded anyways, despite his doubts. His body shifted from spasming to shaking to shivering, the gurgling cries wrenching out of his chest settling into the occasional sniffle. Hinata continued to hold him where the two of them had slumped onto the tile floor of the bathroom. If Tobio hadn’t been so incredibly exhausted following his release of long-repressed emotions, he would have been amazed at his own ability to curl up small enough to fit against Hinata, like there weren’t almost twenty centimetres between them. As it was, he felt like he’d been hit by a bus. But it was better than feeling like he was throttling himself, trying to keep everything down.

“Feel a little better?” He didn’t think he’d ever hear Hinata’s voice so soft. It made the back of his neck tingle. Tobio nodded, sniffing hard before turning his head further into Hinata’s shoulder. The wetness of his shed tears was cooling where it met air, and it was a little weird to feel on his face, but it was worth it enough to stay hidden from the fluorescent lights overhead. He could hear Hinata breathing, could track it with his hands when Hinata’s ribs expanded to take in air, and deflated when he breathed it out. It fanned gently against his skin, ruffling his hair just a bit. He wondered if Hinata had been crying with him. 

“We should probably go to the bus, then. Daichi and Suga-san will get worried.” That made Tobio’s stomach twist uncomfortably. He didn’t want to cause trouble. So, reluctantly, he nodded again and leaned away from Hinata. The joints in his knuckles had felt like they’d been rusted in place from holding on so tight. He hoped that he hadn’t stretched Hinata’s jacket.

The two of them slipped through the hallways of the school, pressed side-to-side so that they weren’t holding hands, but neither of them would get lost either, and eventually they managed to find the door. True to their shared fear, both Daichi and Sugawara were waiting beside the bus.  
The captain’s arms were crossed over his broad chest, his shoulders straight and tense, a deep crease between his eyebrows as they approached. Suga’s eyes tracked Tobio’s face, pinched with concern, and they pressed their chilled fingers (they’d mentioned they had bad circulation) against his spine as he climbed the stairs into the bus. It was the first time he hadn’t wanted to scratch off the lingering presence of someone’s touch (aside from with Hinata, but he was pretty sure that was different).  
He and Hinata had settled into the seats they’d left their backpacks underneath; Hinata next to the window so he wouldn’t get sick, and Tobio on his left. He didn’t dare allow himself to rest his head against the back of Yamaguchi’s seat, having already earned himself a calculating glare from Tsukishima as he passed (it hadn’t been cruel, but he felt bad enough already). Instead, he settled his arms over his ribcage, crossing them securely and letting the mild pressure soothe his frazzled nerves. His chest felt like it was full of air where all of that water had been, but it was more likely it felt that way because he’d been gasping so hard. He’d probably ended up swallowing more air than he’d breathed in.  
The team was quiet on the way back to school. Losing a match like that would do that to anyone, probably. Tobio let his head fall back against the backrest, feeling stuffy and hollowed out. He wondered why he’d thought they could beat Aoba Johsai, especially with Oikawa-san as their setter. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Still… he’d had so much faith in his own ability to make sure they carried themselves into the next match…

Eventually he became too tired to even berate himself for thinking they were ready. He couldn’t sleep, and found himself in a heavy sort of limbo between states of consciousness. The bus seat was too hard to settle into, and the faux leather stuck to his skin and pulled at it viciously. It was just when the rising pressure of another fit of tears began to build in his throat that he felt a familiar weight against his hand.  
It was Hinata, of course. His right palm cupped over Tobio’s left as much as it could. Light, like he was hesitant. Each of those dexterous fingers felt superimposed against Tobio’s own. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d welcomed a feeling more. So he supposed it was about time for that hesitance to stop being a thing.  
His lips twisted to the side for a moment before he pulled his fingers out from between his ribs and his bicep, adjusting so he could link their hands together, fingers curved and coupled like train cars. Solid. 

They fell asleep like that, both of their eyes still burning with salt, connected like it was the most natural thing in the world. Because it was. And that was that.

5\. Celebration

The fifth time it happened was a blur of heat and heaving lungs and rampant color. The past months had been nothing but grueling practices, the excitement over new strategies and techniques, and the struggle to perfect them. They had fought with one another — Tobio had feared that he’d lost someone so important (Hinata. Always Hinata) more than once — but they’d fixed it; they’d come out stronger than before. The raucous chorus of cheering from the stands proved it.  
Tobio’s chest felt as if it were about to burst with pride. The team was still roaring, elated voices rising shrilly over the swell of the crowd, cracking and shuddering with closely retained tears. It was like a fever dream, almost. Tobio was hot and unsteady and covered in sweat, his legs wobbly from jumping, and his arms weak from the accumulated weight of every ball he’d put up. He’d won it with a quick. It made sense, of course. It was what they were known for. Their not-so-secret weapon, their “freak quick.” But the look on Oikawa-san’s face… Tobio had to grit his teeth against the welling sense of victory climbing his throat.  
That restraint didn’t last long, of course, because he was turning away from Oikawa-san, his lips trembling as Hinata whirled to face him, eyes bright and wild and full of that terrifying otherworldly light that made Tobio want to grab him and —

And what?

He didn’t have time to think about it, because Hinata’s hands were already stretching out towards him. They were red from hitting those sets. Tobio would nag him, later, to make sure he was icing them so they wouldn’t swell, because he always spiked way too hard when he’d barely had a year to build up calluses. But he wouldn’t now. He wouldn’t, because he was taking Hinata’s hand, letting himself be pulled into a bone-crushing hug that would have made him squirm with discomfort at the beginning of the school year, letting himself be wrapped up in arms that were too strong for how short they were, letting himself grin like an idiot and raise his voice to mingle with the perilously joyful cries of the boys around him. The cries of _his team_.  
He started tearing up then. Not enough to be noticed past the unusual brightness of his eyes. But Hinata gave him a look, face wet with tears of his own, and they smiled in tandem, Tobio craning his neck so he could keep his gaze fixed on the monster in his arms, Hinata beaming so fucking hard that it was a surprise his cheeks hadn’t split.

The upperclassmen were on them shortly, grabbing the two of them and piling on, masses of teenage boy bodies and barely stifled body odor crowding into one huge huddle, like some weird flock of crows, gathering to scream in unison over a fresh kill. But it was better than that. Better, because Tobio could see that Tanaka and Noya had dragged Tsukishima into the fold, and the guy was trying to look like he was grimacing about it, but his shoulders weren’t as tense as they usually were. Better, because Sugawara was sandwiched against his back by Asahi’s massive chest, crying a little bit, both from exhaustion and happiness — Tobio could feel them burying their face in between his shoulder blades. Better, because Noya was climbing up over everyone’s backs and standing right on top of Daichi’s shoulders, pounding his chest without a care in the world, and Daichi’s deep voice was louder than everyone else’s, even when it broke and he had to gasp for air so he could keep yelling. Better, because Hinata hadn’t let him go after Yamaguchi had sidled up behind him, one lanky arm hooking around Hinata’s neck as he sobbed outright, knuckles pressed into his eyes like that was the only way he could keep his emotions from tearing him inside out. Better, because they had _won_. They had won. All of them, together, after laying into practices double-time to make up for their initial loss against Aoba Johsai, had pulled through and won.  
The rest of their team joined them, barreling into their huddle at top speeds. Ennoshita looked like his usually cool attitude was failing him, and Narita, close behind, wore an expression of weakly bridled mania. Kinoshita wrestled his way in between Tanaka and Daichi and began hollering like he was set on wearing out his throat for the next week or two. The crush of boys wobbled at times, but didn’t fall. It couldn’t have if it wanted to. Even spent, the legs of each team member were strong enough to keep one another standing.

Tobio tilted his head back to squint into the lights on the gym ceiling, imagining everyone precious to him who could see him now. He closed his eyes and let himself lean into the heavy embraces of his teammates. 

+1. From the heart

Tobio’d learned a lot about firsts in the past year and a half. The end of his last middle school year saw his first all-out blunder on the court, having neglected the true nature of volleyball for long enough to really and truly lose his team. The beginning of freshman year saw his first attempt at becoming a part of a team in earnest. His first time pushing himself to become a part of something, instead of expecting it to become a part of him. The rest of that year saw his first genuine team, his first friends, and his first ever _best_ friend. His first ever Hinata Shouyou (though he supposed that Hinata was a first for everyone else, too). He’d cried in front of someone for the first time since he was little. He’d let himself be held for the first time since then, as well. He’d been through his first few instances of being touched by people aside from Hinata — a pat on the back, a careful vise on his wrist, Sugawara’s hands rising above their head to smack strongly against his — and he’d come to recognize it as a good thing. It was no less startling when he wasn’t given a warning, but when it was his team, his flock (fuck it, Karasuno was far more of a ‘murder’ than anything. That’s what Yachi had said), it didn’t matter. Tobio had even started initiating high-fives of his own. That had been a first, as well. He remembered hitching in a breath and turning to Tanaka with outstretched palms, watching as his senpai’s face went blank before twitching and morphing into an expression that could have rivaled Hinata’s after a particularly neat spike. Tobio’s hands had stung for five minutes afterwards.

There were other firsts that came about after freshman year had come to a close. He’d had a friend, and then multiple friends afterwards, over to his house for the first time (Miwa hadn’t shut up about it for weeks). He’d gone to the cinema for the first time (with Hinata). He’d been invited to his first birthday party (Hinata’s). He’d been coaxed out of his house in the middle of the night for the first time, to watch fireworks in the next town over (also with Hinata). And, much to his chagrin, he’d also developed his first crush (guess who it was).  
That last one was something he’d been putting out of his mind as often as possible in favor of focusing on geometry and getting more creative with his dinks (he’d seen someone on an adult European national team hit a dink that went all the way to the far corner of the opposite team’s court. He speculated for hours on the best way to put enough power into his wrist to do that before eventually calling Hinata to help him test it). There were plenty of other things that were much more important than some dumb crush. He knew this. The trouble with that was that a lot of those important things _involved_ said dumb crush. And it was going to get worse once the school year started back up. 

According to his (admittedly unreliable) calculations, Tobio had a week until the end of August, which meant he had (five times… how many hours were there to a day? Twelve. So five times twelve meant he only had — ten… carry the one… five times one is five… and multiplying that by the carried one…) _fifty hours to figure out what he was going to do about his idiot feelings_. Tobio groaned and dragged both hands down his face. His long legs dangled off the edge of his mattress as he tried to end his own suffering by smothering himself with his pillow. Ten in the morning was way too early to be worrying about this kind of thing. _Or_ doing math. 

“I hear you groaning in there, Tobio-chan. Come out and eat your damn breakfast so you can help me with the laundry.” He groaned louder at Miwa’s voice filtering under his door. “Don’t complain,” she scolded him. He heard her knuckles rap against the wood twice. The sound was familiar and rich, and Tobio allowed a small tremor to run down his spine. “Get your ass up, I made oyakodon. You can heat it up.”  
Encouraged by the idea of food that wasn’t cereal, Tobio dragged himself off his mattress and stumbled out into the hallway. He made to head down the stairs, but turned to Miwa as he stepped down, pausing to consider asking her about the time period he’d puzzled out (without giving anything away of course). After a moment of bleary silence he decided it couldn’t hurt.

“Hey, aneki, there are fifty hours in a week, right?” 

The look on Miwa’s face was of poorly hidden bemusement. “No, there are a hundred twenty. How did you come up with fifty?” 

Abashed, he mumbled something about carrying the one wrong. 

Her smile was patient, but fond. Tobio thought about how one day she’d probably make that same face at her kids. “Do you need help in math again?”

“No!” He pulled his lower lip into his mouth, letting his upper jut out in what Miwa called his ‘beaky face.’ His fingers drummed restlessly on the railing. A beat, and then... “Maybe. But not now, I’m hungry.”

She smiled at him, a little too soft to make him anything short of uncomfortable, and waved him off. “Go eat, then. Oyakodon’s on the bottom shelf of the fridge.” 

He nodded and padded downstairs.

❂❂❂

It was a relief to know that he had a little more time to figure things out, but in this sort of context, one hundred twenty hours was a lot less than it normally would have seemed. Tobio pondered this as he made his way to evening practice. Volleyball didn’t just stop for summer break, no matter how much Tsukishima wished it would (and he’d made his wishes very known to the entire team). It wasn’t a lot of trouble for Tobio, personally. It wasn’t like he did anything outside of volleyball. He’d dedicated himself to it. There was nothing else that caught his attention for too long. If anything, Tobio looked forward to continued practice over summer break. It made sure he didn’t end up stewing in his own (limited) thoughts for too long. It also made sure he still had people to practice with. Even a month of no practice could severely damage his skills.

Only when he’d arrived and waited outside of the locked changing rooms for ten minutes did he start realizing that everyone was a bit… later than usual. Tobio checked the time — seven thirteen in the morning, which was two minutes away from when practice was scheduled to start. His foot had started tapping out a measured pattern against the floor at that point. Had practice time been changed? Was his phone wrong about the time? Had everyone decided to ditch him because they were sick of putting up with his attitude? Tobio clamped his molars down on the side of his tongue, letting the mild pain pull saliva out from underneath his tongue, and tried to focus on the fact that the deck underneath his trainers was hard and sturdy and wouldn’t give out from under him and send him crashing down into the earth —

Okay, he needed to get on solid ground.

Hands fluttering in his pockets, he hurried down the stairs from the changing room. It hurt to keep his hands still when stupid worries were twisting through his head like a bunch of those jointed plastic snake toys, but he didn’t need anybody looking at him oddly if they happened to walk by. He wasn’t some psycho. He could breathe through it just as well as he could shake his fists at his sides to ease the anxiety. Tobio curled his fingers into his palms, feeling the pressure of his blunt nails pressing crescent indents into the skin (sharp and dry, similar to how his hands felt after being outside for too long)...

“Kageyama-kun!!”

His head snapped up a little too fast, and he had to let his eyes adjust to how bright the world was after looking at the dirt for so long, but it was still easy to spot the streak of orange hurtling towards him.

 _Mikan…?_ He thought to himself in the moment before his rational mind kicked in. Oh. “Hinata.”

“Who else?” The kid had skidded to a stop right before the point where he would have bowled into Tobio. Lucky. He shook out that vibrant head of hair (it was shorter. Was it shorter?) and let out a groan so melodramatic that he could have given Oikawa-san a run for his money. “Gahh, I’m sorry I’m late!! I crashed my bike the other day trying to go off a ramp, and it’s in the shop, so I had to run, and — Say…” He looked around, suddenly puzzled. “Where’s everyone else? Shouldn’t practice have started by now?” 

“Yeah.” Tobio was still a little hung up over the fact that Hinata had _definitely_ gotten a haircut. The sides of it were shorter, sort of stacked, and the top was still long. It made him look like a punk. Tobio’s face felt hot. The tips of his fingers were buzzing. 

“Then why are you out here? Is everyone already changed?” Hinata seemed characteristically muddled, light brows furrowed above the bridge of his nose, which was (oh god) smattered with freckles that were much darker than they had been at the beginning of break. He was a goddamn imp, and Tobio was in way too deep.

“I… don’t know.” He swallowed a little too thickly. He needed to get his head back in the game. “The changing room is locked, and nobody’s shown up since I got here.”

“What, seriously?? Have you checked the gym?”

“Not yet.”

“Geez, Bakageyama, leave it to you to just wait around like this. Come on! I bet they’re already doing drills.” Hinata shot him a grin that reflected the summer sun so intensely that Tobio had to squint until the shrimp turned around and bounded towards the gym. He didn’t have the brain cells necessary to snap at Hinata after that. They’d been burned to a crisp by that dumb face of his. How could someone be so bright?  
It hit him, then, that he should catch up. There was no sense in letting Hinata win yet. With a steadying breath, Tobio bolted after him. He watched as Hinata did a double take over his shoulder and started all-out sprinting, mighty legs striding just ahead of Tobio’s own, and then falling back so they were level with one another. Neck in neck. Good. This was good. This was normal.

They tied at the door, only to find out that it was locked, as well. The metal was hot against Tobio’s palms, and he retracted them the minute he registered it so his hands wouldn’t retain any damage. Being the klutz he was, Hinata nearly fell over backwards after making impact, and reached out to snag a handful of the hem of his counterpart’s jacket to haul himself back up, much to Tobio’s frustration.

“Hey, asshole, you’re gonna stretch it,” he griped, and wrenched Hinata’s fist away from his clothes. Every place their skin met started to tingle like it had been injected with helium, and Tobio released him as quickly as he had grabbed him. The sensation lingered after. He tried to ignore it, but experience told him that acknowledging it was inevitable. It was always that way with Hinata. Everything went way too fast when Tobio was around him, and even when they were supposed to be focusing on the goal of figuring out exactly why nobody was at school, and why both of the club rooms were locked, his head was thoroughly addled with thoughts of _Hinata_. 

“They’re not here,” Hinata breathed, sounding winded from their impromptu dash across campus, but pulling himself up to look through the window anyways. “Why aren’t they here? Did we get the time wrong?”

“We couldn’t have.” Tobio sounded more sure of himself than he felt. “Daichi-san didn’t send a message. It’s been the same time all month.” He pulled his phone out again to glare at the clock displayed on the sub screen. Hinata dropped from the window to join him, standing high on his tiptoes to watch the numbers switch from ‘0717’ to ‘0718.’ 

“Um, Kageyama-kun…” That tone of voice was never a good thing. Tobio cut his eyes towards his companion, purposefully darkening his expression to let Hinata know what was coming if he gave him bad news. As if such things ever deterred him from doing exactly that. “It’s Saturday.”

“So?” 

Hinata gave him a pointed look. “It’s _Saturday_.”

“Yeah, you said that. What are you trying to — “ It hit him then. Saturday meant no practice. “Oh.”

“No practice on Saturdays.”

“Oh.”

“We’re pretty dumb, aren’t we?”

Tobio cuffed him upside the head. “Speak for yourself, dumbass.” But at least it wasn’t anything to be too pissed at. No practice was more of a disappointment than a frustration.

Hinata crouched down and clutched his head like he’d actually been hit hard (had Tobio hit him too hard?). “You got here before I did!” (No, he was fine.)

“Only because you were late!”

“So mean, _Kowai_ yama!”

“Whatever.” 

The two of them ended up walking to the park together to practice anyways. It was a tough thing to play outside during summer. Fifteen minutes in and Tobio’s hair was already sticking to his neck and forehead in gross, wet clumps. Sweat ran in rivulets down his back, soaking his shirt and pooling at the dip of his spine. By the time it was noon he looked like he’d been doused with a bucket of water. Tobio eventually got sick of how hard it was to see through his bangs, and of how Hinata snickered at him every time he tried to blow it out of his face, and so he resentfully accepted the garish purple scrunchie which Hinata produced from his bag.

“Of course you’d be the kind of person to carry a scrunchie around,” Tobio jibed as he pulled his bangs back (mostly to take the attention off of himself).

Hinata jumped right into a retort. “It’s not mine! It’s Natsu’s! I just have it because my hair was getting way too long and I had to keep it up, and we didn’t have any hair ties because my mom’s hair is too short and Natsu says they hurt — “

“Okay, okay, I get it,” he said, bending over to pick up the volleyball from where he’d dropped it at his feet. Hinata’s face was a flattering shade of red, either from exertion or embarrassment, and Tobio had to bite his lips together to keep from laughing, or from blushing, himself. “Come on, put this one up.” He tossed the ball to his partner, watching as Hinata remembered last-second to move his eyes from Tobio’s admittedly goofy hairstyle so he could catch it.  
The ball sailed right back out of Hinata’s hands and into a neat arc. Instinctually, Tobio’s eyes tracked it with practiced accuracy, taking into account which direction and how fast it rotated, and raised his hands at the precise point where it would meet for the best toss. It was amazing how quickly his focus could switch from a conversation and into volleyball mode, like flicking a switch. Oftentimes the process was slower in reverse — it was difficult to talk to people when he was interrupted, but luckily for him, Hinata was rarely one to turn the subject from their shared interest.  
Sending the ball up to the ideal position above the net was like second nature at this point. Practice never made perfect — he’d proven this one his rare off-days, where the lights were too bright in his eyes, and the gym smelled too sharp, and his hands felt swollen, and he couldn’t sync up properly with Hinata — but it made plenty of progress. The two of them were like a well-oiled machine after over a year of partnership. It could be read in every line of their bodies; the way they gravitated towards one another whenever they were in the same vicinity, how something just seemed a tiny bit off whenever one was without the other. Most of all, it showed in their eyes. They shared the same fire. The fire that Tobio could see clear as day as Hinata kicked off the ground (off of his toes, like he’d tried so hard to do towards the end of first year), some imagined flicker of broad, powerful feathers unfolding from his back in the mind’s eye. The fire that burned harsh and blue in Tobio, and hot as the sun in Hinata. 

The ball ricocheted off the opposite side of the court with a loud _smack_ , and Hinata’s feet met the ground once more. He turned, eyes wide and lit up like molten amber, and Tobio knew he was done for. 

There was no way he could have looked at that face and escaped with his heart intact.

❂❂❂

After a couple more hours of horsing around, and an ill-advised nap under some of the park trees, they ended up walking home together, as was typical. The pair of them stopped into Sakanoshita on the way, both sheepish at the look Coach Ukai gave them when they walked in wearing sweat-soaked t-shirts and grass-stained shorts. 

“You two need to learn the value of a ‘day off,’” Coach had told them as he handed over a paper bag of meat buns. “You’ll wear yourselves out before school starts again if you keep this up.”

“Yes, Coach,” Tobio had mumbled, fingers restlessly tugging the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Sorry, Coach,” Hinata had amended. And then they were off again, Hinata insisting on carrying the bag even though he always hogged all the food, Tobio accepting the bun offered to him after Hinata had already shoved the first one into his mouth.

They walked in an amiable silence that had become familiar over time, side-by-side down the road to the bus stop. Tobio’s second meat bun was better than the first (which he had eaten too fast to really taste. They’d practiced for about five hours straight, so it made sense that he would be hungry). The dough stuck to his fingers just a little, but barely left a residue, and it only broke between his teeth when he’d already bitten halfway down. He liked meat buns for some of the same reasons Hinata did (meat, and how you didn’t have to use chopsticks), but also for his own reasons (how soft the dough was, and how smooth if felt over his tongue. It wasn’t chunky or dry or abrasive, and it was just a teensy bit sweet. Something like that was hard to explain. It was just soft. He liked soft things).  
Lost in contemplation and eased by the heaviness of the late summer air, Tobio looked to the sky. It was nearing sundown, and the sky seemed happy about it. The light of the sun was musky and golden then, painting the clouds orange, and everything else yellow. Tobio could see the pair of shadows he and Hinata cast, long and black against the asphalt. He looked so much taller than Hinata like that, extended out over the ground.  
Hinata must have caught him staring, because he spoke up.

“That’s us, you know,” he said.

“Yeah,” Tobio sniffed. “Obviously. They’re our shadows.”

“Well yeah, but I mean, look.” His voice was weirdly serious. It wasn’t usually anywhere outside of a really intense match that Hinata’s voice got so calm. The guy brought a hand up to point out the sun in the west. “ _Hi_...” and, with some unshakeable purpose, he moved to point at their shadows, “... _Kage_.” Tobio heard the grating crumble of rubber soles on loose asphalt, and he knew Hinata was looking at him. “The two of us.” 

Tobio looked back at him then, feeling strangely solemn and unsteady. There was an odd sensation in his limbs, like they were heavy, but at the same time gravity felt like a tentative thing. He swallowed. Suddenly, one hundred twenty hours didn’t seem so daunting anymore. Not when everything was like this.  
Hinata was glowing, of course. What else would he be doing in a moment like this? Christ. If his hair had been vivid before, it was so saturated now that Tobio could taste the color of it. The evening sun made it look burnished — hot and blinding, but so delicate that it must have been smithed in some way. That same sunlight glimmered gold in Hinata’s eyes, sparkling off of his face, making his freckles stand out like flakes of precious metal. He looked… god, Tobio didn’t know how he looked. _He looked like the sun._ He was almost too much to take, but Tobio stared at him anyways. He couldn’t not.

The two of them had faltered on the side of the road, facing one another. Tobio swallowed again, his shoes bathed in shadow, his eyes watering in the sun. Hinata, though still, somehow hadn’t stopped moving. There was life in the shudder of his lashes against his cheeks (how someone could have orange eyelashes was a mystery to Tobio. That didn’t make it any less stunning), in the gentle rise and fall of his chest, in the flutter of his bangs across his white forehead. Tobio’s breath caught in his throat, swelling to the point of almost choking him.  
He heard a car pass at his back, and something rustled in the sun-dried grass out past Hinata. The spell between them held strong when a single crow burst from a cluster of brush, great black wings outspread and absorbing every ray of sunlight they caught as its silhouette breached the flaming circle of the sun. Tobio raised his arm then, one long index finger directed towards the fleeting figure of the bird, tracing its path through the deepening colors of the sky. 

See, Tobio didn’t know a lot of kanji. He continued to fail it in school, with only a few lucky B’s in between near-failing grades. He knew how his name was spelled, though, and he knew what it meant, despite its pronunciation. He knew the same things about Hinata’s, as well.  
So when he opened his mouth, he was, for the first time, able to string together a single word from the names he’d already memorized. “ _Hishou_ ,” he said. ‘This is us,’ was what he meant. He knew it was heard loud and clear.

Tobio reached out and, also for the first time, took Hinata’s hand in his own.

**Author's Note:**

> This took me a good three/four days to complete, but I’m very proud of it. If you have any questions, comments, or constructive criticism, PLEASE feel free to leave a comment!!! Thanks so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed :)
> 
> Also!! Here is the [link to the playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6JaAVoCCIfsz3KBoQ22Hjp?si=T40zLKqCSnGisw60g78pGw) I made and listened to all throughout writing this. :) It includes the songs listed before the fic. 
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](https://scaridae.tumblr.com/)!


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